Secrets, Seatrolls and Soap Opera
by superprocrastinator
Summary: Formerly "Natasha Romanoff: Agent of SHIELD?" How did the Black Widow end up at S.H.I.E.L.D? What kind of person was she before Iron Man 2 and The Avengers? I have no clue, but it's fun to guess. M rating for violence in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Note: This is my version of the movieverse, so the characters are very different from the comics. My first and probably last fanfic, it's just a bit of fun representing my desire for a Black Widow movie (want!). Definitely don't own the characters, just borrowing them for a bit. Part 1 of 3. Constructive critique welcomed.

* * *

She wanders down the Barcelona streets, only three blocks from her hotel. A few words in the ear of a tipsy dowager countess at a glitzy party and she has all the information she needs to take down the target. If she waits for the fly to crawl into her web she'll receive five hundred thousand euros for her trouble. Natasha briefly considers retirement, but previous attempts have always ended in being lured back into the game of espionage. She was made for this. This is who she is, spy, assassin, widow.

The dress she's wearing is black and chic, with the right accessories she's at home in almost any gathering. Her heels, small enough that she can run if need be, click on the pavement. If she wanted to truly inhabit her alias, Alison Dawn, she'd be taking a cab back to the hotel. But Natasha needs to breathe, needs to think, needs to be away from all the painfully obvious, painfully boring people that surround her.

Some part of her, the part that's always awake, registers a danger. She keeps walking, her expression the same. No need to let an attacker know she's detected them. She can't pinpoint the sound or sight that has given her would-be assailant away, implying that he isn't some thug about to receive a well deserved beating. She covertly scans the area around her, looking for where a potential assassin would hide. Too late. A clink as a metal...arrow? hits the pavement in front of her. Natasha hits the ground and goes for her gun. She has enough time to wonder what kind of amateur attacks a master assassin and misses before two more arrows hit the ground, trapping her in a neat triangle. Knockout gas bubbles out of the arrowheads, creating a thick fog. She makes it two steps before collapsing.

* * *

Drug hangovers are awful. Natasha knows that after she escapes she won't be able to keep anything down for the next day. It's fairly unusual but not unprecedented for some interested employer to kidnap her or for some out-of-touch nobody to try and wring information from her to gain leverage over her former masters.

Natasha keeps her eyes closed and her breathing even as she assesses the situation. She is tied to a high backed chair by her wrists, ankles and, unfortunately, neck. Still, she can work with this. Bright light leaks through her eyelids, and she can't hear anything but her breathing. No evidence for or against any possible scenario. Natasha waits for some sensory information to give her a clue to her surrounds.

"Awake then?" A man's voice.

Natasha doesn't do anything so gauche as to jump in surprise, but her eyes snap open. A man steps into her field of vision cradling, of all things, a bow. A man in a muscle shirt got the drop on her? She would feel ashamed if it weren't a waste of emotion.

"Quien es?" She asks, her slight Russian accent making the words crisp.

He smiles, as if it's perfectly ordinary for a man carrying a bow to kidnap redheaded women in the streets of Spain. "My name is Barton. English please." He says, the arrogance and accent marking him as American.

"What do you want?" she asks, her eyes widening to give the impression of innocence. She continues in halting English, putting a trace of fear into her voice. "Why am I here?"

"A job." He replies, his tone amused.

She eyes him warily. "I don't take jobs from strange men who carry bows."

Inside she is relieved, the innocent act hadn't moved him a bit, so he's either a cold man or knows exactly who she is. If he wants to hire her he'll have to let her go at some point and she'll be able to question him at her leisure about the man who was so foolish to order her kidnapped.

"Not a job for you, a job for me. I was ordered to kill you." Barton continues with a bizarrely friendly half-smile.

"Why would anyone want to kill me?" she asks, continuing the ingenue charade she is a little too old and far too tired to enjoy.

"You kill people and trade dangerous secrets. For money."

She almost rolls her eyes. Despite the outlandish clothing it's clear he's a U.S. government agent. Only an American would kidnap her and then lecture her about her behavior.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" she protests, because maybe he's an idealist who believes in innocent before being proven guilty. Americans don't typically have the idealism beaten out of them by adolescence, as Natasha's had.

"Don't play games Romanoff. The only reason you're alive is because I think you can be useful."

She smiles, keeping her tone friendly, but drops any pretense of innocence. "Of course I can be useful. You have a job, yes, one that only someone with my background can handle? You pay me, and I do it. No need for the theatrics."

He shakes his head. "No, nothing like that. This is the deal my boss is willing to give you; you work for us, we pay you a salary and give you amnesty for your past crimes. You betray us and we kill you."

"So grim."

"It's a good offer. Think about it."

"Who are you?" asks Natasha, probing for weaknesses in her restraints, stalling for time.

"I'm Agent Barton. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D." He walks toward her and uses a hypodermic needle to inject her with a clear drug, hands precise and confident. She passes out again.

* * *

When she wakes again she is the same chair, but a small mechanical hum gives a clue she's being transported somewhere. Natasha's gut clenches, the further she goes, the further she's away from her supplies, her passports.

She analyzes the information she has received. So the Americans are starting yet another intelligence organization? Relics of Soviet bureaucracy are bad, but the alphabet soup of American "intelligence" organizations are enough to give her a headache. The Agent they sent to kill her was very unorthodox, but competent. It could be they were part of the strange things Natasha has tried to stay well clear of. She has never chased up on hints of organizations dedicated to harnessing magic and advanced technology. Natasha daydreams about breaking into an Egyptian tomb, and realizes she is too drugged to plan effectively. She surrenders to sleep once more.

* * *

The restraints are gone. In their place is a heat-controlled cell, five by five meters. Natasha smiles, Agent Barton had been foolish enough to give her room to work. She takes her body through a series of exercises designed to loosen stiff muscles. She is going to have to train for two weeks to get into top form again after she escapes from her imprisonment.

The cell-door, solid metal, slides open and Agent Barton, this time sans bow, steps into the cell. The door shuts behind him. She raises an eyebrow at him, he knows what she can do if she decides to hurt him.

"Don't bother looking for an escape," he tells her.

She snorts, she's heard that before.

"I know we didn't meet on the best terms." Barton continues, his voice even.

Natasha contemplates breaking his neck, but sees no way to make the cost-benefit analysis favor that decision.

"Killing you would be a waste. You'd be a good fit here."

"I don't think your government can afford me long-term," She says blithely, as if she were talking about the weather.

"$45,000 a year, starting salary." He jokes.

She stares him at him in disbelief, and tries to keep the insult out of her voice. "What temptation."

"Do you know how I got the drop on you?" he asks, with a smirk that she will beat from his face at a time and place that is convenient for her. "You had no back-up, no team. Here you would have a home, a purpose."

She sits on the bed, head in her heads, letting him think he's gotten through to her. If nothing else, this agency could use someone who knows how to run interrogations and how to turn agents.

"What purpose would that be?" Natasha asks.

"Protecting the world," he answers.

Only the Americans. "I don't have much else on my plate at the moment," she offers. "I could use something different and exciting to do. As long as I don't have to use a bow." When in doubt, lie with the truth.

"You have a choice. You can fight me and try to escape. Of course you'll probably die, but the choice is yours."

She hesitates for a moment. She knows exactly what he's doing, after all she's tried the same mind games on others. Trying to create a shred of loyalty through the illusion of mercy and choice. "I will join you." For now.

He smiles, but his face remains frustratingly hard to read. She has the uncomfortable feeling he's learning more about her than she's learning about him. "I knew saving your life would be worthwhile."

Not killing her is not the same thing as saving her life, but she will explain that to him later.

* * *

Nick Fury looks between her and Hawkeye suspiciously, looking for some clue as to why Barton decided to spare her. Fury is obviously skilled in espionage to be director of S.H.I.E.L.D, but he is a blunt instrument and suspects some sort of seduction. So many people, even those who know her reputation, assume she is a one-trick pony. Seduction is just one, rarely used, tool in her arsenal. Sex is a double-edged sword and why seduce information out of someone when you can break into their computers without fuss, interrogate them or use blackmail like any civilized person?

She is wearing sweats and a demure expression. Her brain maps out the parts of the base she's seen so far, noting possible methods of escape. Her mind races as it absorbs data from her surroundings. The people who work here all seem to know each other well, implying that the organization is small and has been running for long enough for habits, good and exploitable, to develop.

"We will be training and assessing you for two months before you are allowed out into the field." Fury says, his tone turning the statement into an order.

The Black Widow nods, her face expressionless. She's no Sherlock Holmes but she's already figured out that Fury is former U.S. Armed Forces. Following orders will keep him happy, and her alive. She wishes she had time to prepare, to work her contacts to find information about this shadowy place, but she'll bide her time, as she always does. If she finds out enough, she can even make this side venture profitable. Two months undercover is nothing.

"In return for your service you'll receive amnesty, and perhaps if you work hard enough, redemption."

The Black Widow is not looking for redemption, but she did need a purpose. A purpose, such as taking down a government agency with the effrontery to kidnap her and then act like it had done her a favor. It would probably be more interesting than knocking off third rate generals.

* * *

The first month flies by quickly. She breaks the records set on the shooting range and then breaks them again. Barton seems to be the go to guy for the organization, coming back from long absences with slight injuries and a depleted quiver. She still hasn't got the story of how an archer started working for S.H.I.E.L.D. The agents are remarkably resistant to her subtle attempts at information gathering. She doesn't press them for information for fear of setting off alarm bells. She does learn that Kristie has a new niece and Robert has a child that looks so much like-. She doesn't let herself think too much about her past, but the "training" and assessment leaves her with too much time to think. She misses having jobs to plan.

She does finally get the chance to wipe the smirk of Barton's face when they are both on the mats at the same time. She's already broken in most of the agency, so sparring partners are in short supply.

Barton gives her the same impenetrable smile he gave her when she first woke up. "Unarmed match, best out of three, anything goes?" he asks.

Natasha hides her delight behind an impenetrable expression of her own. "I'd love to. Where have you been all this time?"

"Sorry for not calling. I was fighting space vampires in San Francisco," he jokes.

Space vampires? She'll make sure to hit him extra hard for that. She settles into combat stance, waiting for him to make a move. Barton takes a half-hearted swing at her which she sidesteps, following the step with a bruising blow to his ribs. He's strong and well-trained but she's faster and _better_. Ten sweaty, invigorating minutes later he's lying on his belly, arm twisted behind his back. They'll both be covered in bruises tomorrow but Natasha isn't even out of breath.

"I probably shouldn't have said anything goes, should I?" he says.

Natasha laughs, somewhat to her own surprise, and lets him up. "You were a worthy opponent. You learn quickly," she compliments. She is telling the truth, if he trains with her for three years he'll be as good as she is.

"I know your two months aren't up yet, but you can help us with something."

Natasha is very bored. She agrees.

* * *

The Black Widow strides into the briefing room, noting the presence of Barton, Fury and a young dark-skinned woman who doesn't seem happy to see her.

"This is the mission objective. The Sword of Attila." Fury barks.

A holographic sword rotates above a large cylinder in the center of the room. The sword is short, plain and functional. Natasha would have printed out a picture and saved the however much the projector cost, but they didn't recruit her for budget advice.

Natasha waits for more information. None seems to be forthcoming. "Isn't that in a museum somewhere?" Natasha asks.

"Made by Hungarian goldsmiths. No, this is the real sword of Attila, given to him by the God of War." Fury answers with unnecessary volume.

Natasha thinks Fury missed his calling as a drill sergeant.

"It has the ability to turn its bearer into an unbeatable general if fed with the blood of vanquished enemies. In short, it's powerful and in the hands of our enemies." Fury continues, pausing occasionally to let the gravity of the situation sink in.

Natasha looks around the room in disbelief. Barton and the brunette, who she still hasn't been introduced to, seem to be taking this presentation entirely seriously.

"It was on route to be put into storage with our other artifacts. We believe this man is responsible for stealing it."

The hologram changes to the handsome face of a man in his late-thirties. Nikolai Ivanovic. Natasha recognizes the man well. She worked for him for a year before she had moved on to more interesting partners.

"You see why we need your help," Fury turns to Natasha.

"What kind of team do you have?" Natasha asks.

"Ideally Agents Barton and Kapoor" Fury nods to the woman "would be able to break into his mansion and leave without raising the alarm. What kind of team do you think we'll need?"

"If I said you needed fifty men to take this magic sword?" Natasha asks.

Fury remains expressionless. "We would put together a fifty man strike team."

"Two people should be enough." Natasha tells him. "But I don't betray former clients. Bad business."

Barton watches the proceedings with detached amusement.

"You know Nikolai Ivanovic. What do you think he will do with that kind of power?" Fury says.

Natasha knows that this "magic sword" might have some sort of hidden technology that Ivanovic can take advantage of. She also knows if the situation were reversed Ivanovic would sell her out in a heartbeat. She never liked him much anyway.

"We don't need information about the jobs you've done for him. Just tell us how to break into his mansion without bloodshed." Agent Kapoor says, attempting to hide her suspicion with charm.

"You are talking about his country mansion, yes?" Natasha asks. She takes Barton and Kapoor through the blueprints, grudgingly admitting how useful the 3D hologram is for planning a break in.

"And where would Ivanovic be sleeping? Is he always guarded?" Kapoor asks.

Natasha answers warily. It only takes two more questions from Kapoor before she realizes this is also an assassination mission.

"Enough!" The Black Widow says, and for all she is in a grey sweat pants and an ugly t-shirt, she is the Black Widow in that moment. "If you are planning an assassination mission, tell me! I am a professional, give me the information I need to do my job."

"When his men took the artifact they killed four of our agents. We plan to kill two birds with one stone in this op." Fury says.

Natasha looks at him, and realizes that beneath the bluster Fury is just as twisty as she is, and that this was a test Kapoor didn't even know she was giving.

"Well you should have told me instead of wasting my time. If you want to take both the sword and the man here is what you need to do..."

"Agent Kapoor, you are dismissed." Fury says, many minutes later. "Romanoff. Thank you. You are also dismissed"

Natasha nods politely and follows Kapoor out, slowing her pace so Kapoor is soon out of sight. No guards or agents are in view so Natasha flips easily into the air vents and crawls back to gather intel.

"I see no evidence you made the right call," Fury is telling Barton.

"You trust me for my eye," Barton responds. "If she turns, she'll be a useful asset for S.H.I.E.L.D."

"It's your eye I'm worried about. What-"

"In my _professional _judgement, she is a source of knowledge and expertise unmatched by any of your other recruits. We would have had to send a strike team to Ivanovic's mansion if I killed her in Barcelona."

"When I recruited you I saw a desire to do good. In Romanoff I see the ability to walk away while the world burns." Fury says.

Natasha senses the conversation is about to end soon and backs away slowly and quietly, before crawling out of a vent in a side corridor.

"Catch all that?" asks Barton, leaning casually against the wall opposite her.

Natasha scowl. "Very illuminating. Can I help you Agent Barton?"

"Kapoor and I leave tomorrow. Can you fit me in to your busy schedule for a rematch?"

"Best out of three."

By the time she flips Barton to the ground he is only able to stay there, gasping. Natasha looks at him, concerned. She doesn't to know what Fury will do if she breaks Barton.

"Teach me how to do that," he asks.

"We still have one more round." Natasha reminds him.

"Which you'll win. It's better that you teach me so I have a shot in the future."

So Natasha takes him through a class, noting they are attracting an audience. He doesn't complain when she corrects his technique brutally. After making him practice the flip takedown she used on him for the thirtieth time she looks at the clock. Well over an hour has passed and both of them are drenched in sweat.

"Class over," she says, voice clipped.

"Thanks Widow," he says, grabbing a towel from a nearby gawker.

He heads to the locker room, leaving Natasha on the sparring mat without a backwards glass.


	2. Chapter 2

Kristie, a black woman in her thirties, knocks on the door of Natasha's cell, which has become her room. Natasha is staring at her ceiling in boredom and feels a rush of gratitude which she quickly suppresses.

"Hey there Natasha," Kristie says, the slight southern tinge to her accent making her words friendly.

"Good morning," Natasha answers cordially.

"I brought you some books. Some are in English, some are in Russian." Kristie says, bringing out battered paperbacks from her bag. "You know you should come to the library or the rec room. We'd love to have you."

Natasha can tell from the tone of Kristie's voice that even the older woman doesn't believe what she's saying.

"Thank you for the books." Natasha answers.

She doesn't have the heart to tell Kristie that she doesn't come to the rec room for the same reason one doesn't name farm animals. One doesn't want to miss them when they're gone.

* * *

The next day, when she shows up to the facility gym for her first workout of the day, three women, including Kristie, are milling around, watching her. Kristie is nudged forward by her companions.

"Natasha. We were, uh, wondering, if you'd teach us."

Natasha finds herself agreeing. Just like that, she becomes the unofficial martial arts instructor of the facility.

* * *

"Tell me, when confronted with a martial artist who is better than you, what do you do?" she asks a blonde women, Ana, who is collapsed on the floor after only an hour of work.

"Wait for an opening?" Ana responds weakly.

"No. Kristie?"

Kristie is in not much better shape than Ana, but is stubbornly staying upright. "Run?" she offers.

"Yes! Run away or shoot the bastard." Natasha says, glaring at Ana.

In the two weeks since she's started these classes she's gained quite a following. Most leave after one or two classes, but she has ten agents that show up every weekday morning. She is proud of them, but let's no hint of that show as she paces in front of her exhausted students. She still doesn't have a catsuit, but has found tight-fitting black yoga pants a t-shirt. She looks and feels more like herself.

"Now, we run through the blocking drills one more time. You need to be able to block in your sleep!" Natasha says, to the assorted groans of her students.

Barton is watching her and the class from the rafters, and she lets him think she hasn't seen him as she wraps up the class, forcing her students to cool-down when they'd rather retreat to the showers. Once the class is over he drops to the floor, landing cleanly.

"You're quite good at that," he comments lightly.

"Stop looking for so smug," she responds. "I know you gave Kristie the idea."

Hawkeye looks surprised at having his scheme uncovered. "How?"

"You just told me," she says with a wink.

Barton looks chagrined for a moment. "Up for a few rounds?" he asks, nodding to the sparring mats.

"Of course." Natasha answers.

Barton fights in straight lines and it is almost too easy to evade him, but he's obviously learned something about her from up in the rafters because when she tries to sweep the legs out from under him he jumps the sweep easily. It would have worked a month ago. Still it doesn't take long until he is on the ground and she is standing over him, victorious.

He looks up at her. "You can't be any older than what, twenty-five, twenty-six. How does someone so young get so good?" he asks, genuine curiosity coloring his voice.

He wants personal information? Wants to solve her? Good luck, dorogoy.

"My father taught me self-defense from a young age." Half-true. "The co-ordination, the precision come from dance. I trained to be a ballerina since I was five." She had, it was good cover for a beautiful Russian woman to be a ballerina.

"A ballerina?" he asks in disbelief.

She pirouettes, form perfect.

"Your turn to answer a question," Natasha informs him.

He nods his assent, gingerly moving to a sitting position.

"Why didn't you kill me?" A question that she has been puzzling over since she's arrived.

He recoils slightly. "Because it wasn't the right thing to do."

Natasha waits, hoping her silence will compel him to say more. He walks to the bleachers and motions for her to sit down. He looks sharply at two male agents lurking nearby and suddenly they have something urgent to do, elsewhere.

He starts to speak, then stops. "Do you remember Sheldon Smith?" he says finally.

"Yes."

A scientist who had stolen secrets from a multinational corporation and who hadn't hidden his tracks. The corporation had ordered his death, but she had been brought in to make sure it looked like an accident. His piss-poor security made it easy.

"He was a S.H.I.E.L.D. asset with a wife and child. A friend of Fury's. It's what put you on our radar. We decided you were too good to be running around without any sort of control."

"But you decided that I should live."

"I tracked you to Dresden. I saw you save that kid. Then, in Barcelona, the way you worked the crowd, no fuss no muss. So many in your chosen profession would have chosen a different way of interrogation."

Natasha is momentarily stunned into silence. He had been tracking her for that long and she hadn't noticed. She shouldn't underestimate this man.

Agent Kapoor walks into the gym and scans the room. "Clint, there you are," she says, coming towards them. "We need to go over our cover.

"Agent Kapoor. I'm busy at the moment."

"Oh, don't stay on my account. I've got to start my real workout anyway," Nastasha says.

Natasha leaves for the weight room with a wave.

* * *

Natasha is hacking into S.H.I.E.L.D's database. She checks the file they have on her. It is surprisingly complete for the past five years, jobs, aliases, but before that she is a ghost. Not even the information she told Barton made its way there. She ends her connection to the terminal, relieved. It takes a few minutes to return a purloined security badge to the jacket of the guard without anyone being the wiser. As she heads to the dining hall bells begin to clang throughout the facility. They wouldn't set off alarms that loud for a small information breach, would they?

Natasha pulls herself up into an air vent, ready to begin Escape Plan C. A creature passes beneath her. From this vantage all she sees is mottled grey skin and a heavy tread, indicating heavy muscle. Two more creatures follow behind, one with blood on its claws. By now she knows the building like the back of her hand and heads towards the armory. She doesn't want to meet those monsters hand to hand. The rifles have already been taken. All that's left are two handguns, thankfully with enough ammunition that she has to leave some to avoid being loaded down.

Stepping into a firefight when she doesn't know the plan of her allies is foolish, but the sounds of screams and gunfire indicate they need all the help they can get. Natasha secures her ammunition around her the best she can and goes back into the vents.

She takes a left, towards Kristie's workspace. Beneath her she sees more of the creatures. Five people in S.H.I.E.L.D's version of riot gear are shooting at eight of the creatures. The rifles are on full automatic but it still takes precious seconds for the creatures to go down, giving one enough time to rip a small blonde man apart. Natasha keeps crawling. A strong claw grabs her ankle and yanks her backwards. The lights in the corridor outside go out, leaving Natasha blind. Suppressing a scream, she twists to shoot at the thing grabbing her leg. She hits it twice in the head, knocking it backwards. In the dark of the vents she can see two yellow eyes glaring at her before the lights in the outside corridor flicker back to life revealing a face that is a cross between human and snake. She shoots twice more as it leaps for her. Their combined weight collapses the metal beneath them and they fall to the floor together. Natasha is dazed, but rolls away from the thing. It's twitching on the ground, and she sees her first two shots have already begun healing, bullets pushed from grey-green flesh that oozes slime rather than blood. The third bullet went through the eye, killing it, but just to be sure she puts two more bullets in the bipeds skull. It's only the size of a man but even dead she can see the strength and ferocity this creature possessed.

Two more of the creatures drop from the air vents. They see her standing over their fallen brother and begin to amble towards her, predatory gleams in their eye. Natasha runs and they barrel after her. She can almost feel their hot breath on her neck. Natasha turns a corner and continues to sprint, hearing two thuds as both of them hit the wall as they chase her. She continues to run, using corners and her superior agility to gain distance. When they are fifteen meters back she turns to face them, breathes deeply and picks her shot. It hits the closer monster in the eye. It falls. The other is scant meters away and closing. She keeps shooting. Her first bullet hits the bridge of its nose, slowing its momentum, her second hits in the cheek. One bullet left in the clip. Her third shot hits the eye and it finally goes down. The creature's corpse lies three inches away from her boot. Heart-pounding, Natasha reloads.

She bends down and examines the corpse, looking for weak points larger than the eye. The creatures skin is tough and slimy, but the back of its neck is soft. The creature is similarly weak at the knee and elbow joints.

Natasha closes her eyes and listens. Small explosions are coming from the corridor to her left. Gunfire and panicked human voices echo from every direction. It appears she is in the middle of an uncoordinated attack and a surprised defense. She hopes Kristie is safe, wherever she is and heads in the direction of the explosions.

Natasha moves silently, checking around her for any sign of the creatures. Her training is telling her to find someplace to hide, but after being ambushed in the air vents she doesn't like her odds alone. Better to fight now until she can find a way out.

She peeks cautiously into the next corridor and sees Hawkeye perched on three crates, surrounded by the monsters, shooting arrows so fast his hands blur. The arrows explode on impact, driving the creatures back, but only the creature he hits go down. The rest heal torn flesh and broken bones as she watches. He looks moments away from being overrun. Natasha strides down the corridor, shooting the creatures in the back of the neck, two shots each. Three of the creatures go down before they even realize they are being attacked from the rear. Trapped between Hawkeye and Natasha the remaining four creatures are fish in a barrel.

Haweye nods his thanks. "Most of the time I'm rescued by men in suits. You're definitely an improvement."

"What are those things?" Natasha asks, ignoring the banter.

"Hell if I know. That's above my paygrade. I'm trying to get a group of trapped civilians out. Care to join me?"

"I'll take point," Natasha says.

As soon as the words leave her mouth the lights go out.

Hawkeye curses. "We've lost access to the outside power-grid. We went to the generators when the attack started. Fury and the rest are holding the upper levels but they said it will take hours to restore the connection to the grid. We need to get the generators back online."

"You don't need to sell me on getting to the generators Barton. The creatures weak points are the back of the neck, knees and the eyes. Let's move."

They continue silently towards the generators, Natasha in the lead. They're in complete darkness and it takes all of Natasha's skill to guide them without encountering the monsters. Snuffling and loud footsteps come from ahead of them. Natasha pauses and presses her back to the wall. As Hawkeye creeps past her she grabs him and signals him to do the same.

They are at a T-intersection, a turn away from the generator. Natasha and Hawkeye wait as what must be fifty of the creatures trundle down the corridor. Natasha remembers the glowing eyes and hopes they can't see in the dark.

The unordered parade of monsters finally ends and Natasha waits a minute, then two before moving. She pulls Hawkeye's arm to get him moving again as she pads towards the room housing the three generators S.H.I.E.L.D uses for back up power. The door is open and the air utterly silent. Natasha walks in and feels the stench of blood roll over her. She waits for Hawkeye to follow before closing the door. He draws an arrow from his quiver and presses a button on its side, creating a torch. The room around them is painted red, six human and three creature bodies are on the ground. Natasha represses the urge to vomit. She's seen worse.

"Any good at fixing things?" Hawkeye asks, his voice pitched to go no further than her ears. He looks helplessly at the wreckage of wires and steel around them.

Natasha nods, finds a toolkit and gets to work. The creatures have thoroughly destroyed the generators, giving them an advantage over the human occupants of the base. Only one of the generators is salvageable, and Natasha tries to limit the noise as she repairs it, but winces at every rasp and clang. Temperature control disappeared with the power and she is sweating, her hands slippery on the pair of pliers.

Hawkeye leaves the arrow-torch with her and barring the door as quietly as he can. The work done he watches the door, an arrow nocked on his bow. She almost asks him to help when the door shakes.

"Keep working!" he urges.

"I am!" she snaps.

The door is slowly being battered into tinfoil. When the creatures open a hole wide enough, Hawkeye is shooting, not explosives but acid, hoping to destroy creatures without destroying the make-shift barricade. They fall back, hissing, which allows Hawkeye to shoot a powerful explosive deep into their ranks. In moments they begin their assault anew.

Natasha keeps working, but she needs twenty more minutes.

The door is finally breached and the creatures make short work of the barricade. Natasha curses and exchanges her tool box for her handguns. Without need for consultation the two humans snap into the rhythm of combat. Hawkeye covers the door and she finishes the ones that get through. It's a hail of bullets and arrows but the monsters just keep coming, snarling and growling. They don't scream in pain and they don't seem to be afraid for even an instant. Muzzle-flashes illuminate the dim room, turning the slaughter into a grisly parody of a rave. The creatures face a brief difficulty in climbing over their dead, who are piled around the door like so many dolls. Natasha takes advantage of the lull to grab a rifle and ammo from the human corpses she had carefully avoided looking at until now. The overhead lights flicker back on and Natasha doesn't know whether to laugh or cry because they're about to die for nothing and for the first time in a long time she wants to live rather than just exist.

Natasha keeps shooting with the rifle, decreased accuracy made up for in power. Hawkeye is down to three arrows, two, one, and grabbing a rifle of his own and Natasha knows that they are about to die. The creatures have forced their way past the bottleneck and are rushing towards them and Natasha is out of bullets, out of time. She grabs a length of wire that is tied to one of the ruined generators.

She slides on the ground, avoiding the creatures blows, and threads her way through the creatures legs, using her knife to hamstring a couple. Five are tangled and fall down, but it isn't enough. Three more are still up, the five are getting back to their feet and Hawkeye's rifle has run dry. It's all she can do to get to her feet and back away.

She shares a brief look with Hawkeye, who opens his mouth to say something. He snaps it shut again as the sound of gunfire comes from the corridor outside. Natasha and Clint hit the floor as the remaining eight creatures are killed by their rescuers.

Ears ringing, Natasha and Clint look up. At the head of the rescue party is a man Natasha would usually dismiss as a faceless bureaucrat. He nods genially at her.

"You must be the Black Widow. I'm Agent Coulson." He offers his hand.

"The pleasure's mine, Agent," Natasha answers.

She ignores his hand, pulls him towards her by his tie and kisses him hard on the mouth before walking away. Hawkeye and Agent Coulson watch her go.

"Good call on saving her life Agent Barton." Coulson offers, unruffled.

"I know."


	3. Chapter 3

"Romanoff, you're needed for the debrief," Hawkeye tells her.

Natasha lets her shoulders slump a little. She is bone tired and just wants to sink into bed. Hawkeye presses a water bottle into her hands and pushes her in the direction she's supposed to go.

So Natasha recounts her version of the battle in front of Agent Coulson and faceless S.H.I.E.L.D operatives she has yet to officially meet, skipping the part about hacking into the database.

The entire base is called into the main hangar. The grief is clear on all of the agents faces. Whispers make their way across the crowd. From what she can gather more than a hundred creatures were part of the attack, at least ten S.H.I.E.L.D. agents are dead and a score more wounded.

Director Fury takes control of the hangar and a picture of the creatures, along with a picture of a middle-aged man are projected on the wall behind him.

"Here is what we know. These genetic mutations are the product of Professor Hendrick's experiments. We don't know how the mutations infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D or who is behind the attack. We do know the Professor went missing three months ago. His recovery is now S.H.I.E.L.D's number one priority. In the days ahead we will ask much from you, but know this: we will avenge our people. You are all dismissed."

Natasha looks around her and sees the agents invigorated by this speech. Sees grief turn to resolution. She returns to her room.

* * *

Professor Hendricks is rescued in days, from a cult named HYDRA. Natasha is not asked to help with the mission, nor does she offer. Yet the week after the sea-troll incident suspicious glares are replaced with smiles, a pot plant mysteriously appears in her room and her martial-arts class double. One battle and S.H.I.E.L.D. has welcomed her as part of the team. It's disconcerting.

* * *

The base library is huge, filled floor to ceiling with books. Lamps give the room a soft glow, at odds with the harshly lit utilitarian corridors outside. Natasha browses like a child in a candy store. She settles into an armchair, periodically closing her book to explore the shelves. She accumulates two stacks of books the height of a toddler next to her chair. It's an eclectic collection, a treatise on moral philosophy is sandwiched between a copy of Pride & Prejudice and an Advanced Mandarin textbook.

She's deep into a torrid novel- the word throbbing is used twice in one paragraph- when someone comes close enough to wrench away her concentration. Natasha glares at Hawkeye. He sets a thin cardbord box down next to her.

"Open it," he urges her.

It's her bodysuit, complete with gadgets designed to incapacitate, cause pain and otherwise accentuate Natasha's impressive skill-set.

"R&D loved your trinkets. I figured you'd want them back."

She picks up her suit, running her fingers over its secrets. "Thank you."

"This means you can't mock me about my bow."

"I'm going to mock you for using a weapon appropriate to the middle ages all I want," She replies with a smile.

Hawkeye looks like he wants to argue the point with her, but chooses not to. "You're up. We've got a mission."

"Space vampire in San Francisco?"

"I wish."

* * *

"Agents Romanoff and Barton. Take a seat," Fury says.

Natasha starts a little at her new title, but sits in a sleek black chair next to Hawkeye.

"Your first mission is in Russia. Barton will pose as a potential investor, Romanoff as his translator."

Natasha nods, reaching for the briefing packets Fury slides across the glass table.

"Agent Kapoor will be your backup."

On cue, Kapoor rushes in and takes a seat.

"Kapoor speaks enough Russian to get by if Romanoff is captured or killed. Her cover is as a tourist. You will be staying in the same hotel but will have no contact unless necessary."

From the way Kapoor looks at her oddly. Natasha realizes if she steps out of line Kapoor is their to kill her. Natasha expected a killchip or grandiose threats about satellites, but Fury is giving her a minimal amount of trust to see what she'll do with it. She appreciates the gesture.

"If were operating almost anywhere else you'd have a S.H.I.E.L.D team on standby but the Russians don't like us. You'll need to get to the Polish border before you can count on our aid." Fury looks at Romanoff and Barton to make sure he is understood.

"Your objective is to destroy an underground lab left over from the sixties. You will be given the invitation to the auction and the exact location of the lab once you arrive. Examine the lab for new technology before destroying it. We believe an earlier branch of HYDRA left enough there to give some of the locals ideas. Most of the intel is from recently released Soviet archives so other intelligence organizations may be involved. Don't step on anyone's feet unless they get in your way."

When Fury leaves them to read their files Kapoor exhales in relief.

"Nervous about something?" Natasha asks.

Kapoor's eyes dart around the room, unable to meet Natasha's. "Yes, uh, I'm leaving someone I care about behind and he's-"

Natasha holds up a hand. "If it isn't relevant to the mission, I don't care." Kapoor using her worry for a lover to cover her fear of Natasha, or shooting Natasha, is oddly endearing.

* * *

They fly first class and Natasha takes the time to doze in half hour spurts, readying her body for the change in time zones. Kapoor is on a different plane three hours behind, and if the Black Widow wanted to kill Agent Barton and escape with the information she'd gathered now is the time. She feels no inclination to do so.

Hawkeye spends his time observing her and the other passengers. Neither Black Widow or Hawkeye look like themselves. A dowdy brown suit and strategic application of makeup has turned Natasha from beautiful to mildly pretty. Hawkeye is wearing a tailored suit that costs the same as his civilian wardrobe combined and looks every inch the American investor. The other passengers in the first class cabin spend the flight sleeping and working.

He leans forward to shake her awake. "We're almost there. Get ready to work."

* * *

A middle-aged man, dressed in clothing that would have been impressive twenty years and a hundred washings ago, speaks in Russian, a greedy gleam in his eyes. Natasha quietly tells Clint the English translation.

"Gentlemen. I welcome you here today to present you with an opportunity. We will take a tour of the facility. The equipment below is old, but made for the world of today. It does not make super soldiers but super minds. In an age of invention it is science and not thugs that determine victory. You will have exactly five minutes to inspect the lab before we begin the bidding. You may not touch anything."

It is clear that the local government is relishing the chance to make a profit and not taking any chances. The rather ordinary house in crawling with soldiers. Both Natasha and Clint note the location and movement of the guards. They are in what would be the living room, where a junior official serves decent champagne, the greed in his eyes making him twin to the older bureaucrat. Despite herself Natasha is impressed at S.H.I.E.L.D's resources, to crash a gathering like this with next to no notice would have been a challenge for her on her own.

Hawkeye, under the name Clint Leighton, is one of four bidders. Two Russians and one Englishman are competing for the HYDRA remnants. The younger Russian, Pyotr Smirnov, is wealthy but is clearly not taking the bidding seriously, paying more attention to his champagne than the Russian bureaucrat. The older Russian, Illya Kyznetsov, is dressed in a crisp business suit and is not hiding his disdain of the other bidders. He is a "self-made" billionaire and everything about him, from his shoes to his haircut, screams wealth. The Englishman, Lord Alex Warren, is in his mid-forties and hides behind his large glasses. He looks perfectly ordinary, but Natasha is immediately wary. He was the target she was hired to kill before Clint brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D. She knows well that he's an elusive bastard.

"Remember Barcelona?" Natasha asks Clint softly.

"Not really," answers Clint with a hint of sarcasm.

"The job I was hired to do before you hired me? Well Warren there, he was one of the people I was scheduled to interpret with for a business deal. Just an interesting coincidence," she says.

"Very interesting."

Clint understands her perfectly, but lets no trance of the troubling information show on his face or in his stance.

The Russian official turns to the side table behind him and with a theatrical flourish knocks over a vase attached to the table. A hidden trap door opens next to him.

"Please, come in. Your time begins now," He pulls out a stopwatch and presses a button.

Natasha and Clint descend the staircase cautiously. At the bottom is a single large room. It contains tables, beakers and the clutter one would usually associate with a lab but Natasha's eye is immediately drawn to the silver chair in the back of the room. It is connected to metal pipes that hum slightly, all of it embedded in the rock. At the end of each pipe ix a mess of wires leading to a silver helmet. It's apparent why the Russians are selling the land and not the equipment, getting the chair and pipes out of the room without damaging them would be costly and time consuming.

Under the pretense of reading a few of the papers to Clint, Natasha gets closer to one of the benches. He places his body between her and the watchful guard, hiding her from view for an instant. She uses that time to slip a small bug onto the massively large computer. S.H.I.E.L.D should be able to access all its files, given time.

"It's time for the bidding to begin," says the Russian bureaucrat, gesturing with his stopwatch. "Let us start at 500,000 Euros."

Clint bids twice, once at 775,000 and once at 1,500,000, the maximum Fury has allocated to win the bid fairly. After Clint drops out only Kyznetsov and Warren are left. They bid furiously but at 2,500,000 the Russian billionaire is triumphant.

"Sold! Ser Kyznetsov if you'll come look over the paperwork. Everyone else, the door is above you."

The younger Russian walks up the stairs with the air of someone who has just seen a play and been slightly entertained. Warren stomps more than walks, fury in his eyes at being outbid. Clint and Natasha follow, Clint projecting disappointment and Natasha disinterested professionalism.

* * *

They are in their hotel room. They have swept for bugs and come up empty. No one appears to be tailing them. Natasha, always cautious, closes the curtain over the window so no unseen watcher can read their lips.

"He was your target?" Clint asks.

"Yes, I was a day away from shooting him when you recruited me."

"Do you know who hired you or why?"

Natasha shakes her head. "A third party paid for the hit. My research on the man showed he is in debt to some nasty players but they'd pay for retrieval, not assassination. What do you make of the chair and the helmets?"

"Increasing intelligence has to be difficult. Maybe they have to take it from somewhere. I'd guess the chair is where you set the potential super mind and the helmets are for the suckers who get drained. HYDRA always had ways of procuring experimental subjects, willing and not."

Natasha shudders at the thought of having her intelligence ripped away.

"I don't like any of this but we continue as planned. The techies have all the information they're gonna get from the bug. If the guard deployment stays the same you can sneak in, set the charges and get out without trouble." Clint continues.

They make contingency plans until nightfall, then change into their mission clothes.

* * *

Natasha slips through the bathroom window of the house above the lab. The guards outside continue to gossip and smoke. The two guards inside should be in front of the door to the lab, relaxed from the long and uneventful watch. Natasha takes two throwing stars, each tipped with a tranquilizer, from her belt. She sneaks forward into the house, avoiding the creaky wooden boards by walking on the edge between the ceiling and floor. Her caution is unnecessary. The two guards lie at the doorway, unconscious and tied by black rope. Natasha backs away silently.

"Stop right there," a voice orders in Russian.

Natasha does.

"Who are you?" she asks, voice wavering.

Through the small speaker in her ear she hears Clint curse. "I'll be right there," he promises.

The man behind her steps closer. "I'm pointing a gun at you. Drop your weapons and turn around." His voice is softer than it was a moment ago, responding to the vulnerability Natasha projects.

Natasha turns and throws the stars right into the man's throat. He falls dead to the ground. It's the younger Russian, eyes open and sightless, gun still clasped in his hands. Natasha takes the gun from his still warm fingers and removes the ammunition. The soft ka-thunk of an arrow and the hiss of released knockout gas come from outside the house.

"It was Smirnov," she speaks into her microphone. "Guards are down, no other hostiles visible."

"Copy that. The guards outside are unconscious. We have three hours until shift change."

"I'm moving to the lab."

"I've got your six."

His voice comes from behind her. Natasha raises her eyebrow, impressed despite herself how quickly he's gone from sniper's perch to the ground.

Natasha opens the door to the lab with her back to the wall. Blue lightning shoots from the doorway and hits the wall opposite, leaving scorch marks. Clint shoots an arrow in the direction of the blast. The explosion illuminates the lab and Lord Alex Warren. He is undamaged from the blast.

"I was wondering when you'd get here," he says, rolling the bug that Natasha planted earlier between his fingers.

Blue electricity washes over the two agents. They hit the ground.

"Tie them up. We can use them for the trial run. The Hawk and the Widow, quite a catch," Warren states with a sneer.

The two men who ambushed the agents dutifully do as they're told, disarming Natasha of her guns and Hawkeye of his bow as they lie on the ground paralyzed. Both of the henchmen have the unwavering stare of the fanatic. Hawkeye, the Black Widow and the two guards from upstairs are all tied to the pipes, helmets placed on their heads.

"Sad we killed your boyfriend?" Natasha gasps as soon as she is able, body still visibly twitching from the electricity the strange guns produced.

"Trying to anger me by implying I'm gay? How very dull. Smirnov was a business partner, nothing more. Expendable. He did not see the true glory of what we can accomplish with this machine, only saw the profit." Warren replies.

Natasha can't see Clint from where she's tied but she knows he's putting the information together same as she is. Now to get the man to truly monologue.

"Scientists like you specialize in twenty seconds of glory before their employer offs them." Natasha goads.

"My brothers will never betray me. And with an army of geniuses all over the world devoted to our cause? HYDRA will rise again. Our reign will last centuries!"

Natasha laughs throatily.

"Gag the bitch," Warren orders, voice tight with anger.

The jack-booted henchmen move to comply. When they come close enough Natasha drops the pretense that the ropes have succeeded in containing her. She punches one hard enough to knock him out and avoids the startled shot of the other. She disarms him and fries him with his own electricity gun before turning to Warren. He is moving towards her, no weapon in his hands. She shoots the electricity gun, which looks more like a blunderbuss than a modern weapon, at the man. It doesn't fire. Warren smirks.

"Trying to use my own technology against me? Cute."

The Black Widow snarls and moves towards him, feinting with her fist and then delivering a roundhouse kick. She hits nothing but air. Warren grabs her leg and pulls her off balance. He's snake fast and it's all she can do to block his strikes. She doges a kick but is too slow to block his punch. It hits her solidly in the face and blood trickles from her lip. She retaliates, turning a block with her left leg into a jump kick with her right. Her foot hits his chest, knocking him backwards.

They circle each other slowly, focus on each other. Out of the corner of Natasha's eye she sees Hawkeye move, regaining control over enough of his muscles to loosen his bonds. Warren also catches the movement and almost casually draws a knife from his boot and throws it towards Clint. Natasha uses the time to rush him and is able to land a blow on his face before they are back exchanging punches, kicks and blocks. Clint dodges the knife as much as he able while still tied, instead of being lodged in his throat it sticks from his left ear, glinting wetly with his blood. Natasha has no time to think of her partner, she is too busy trying to defend herself. Warren uses a block to grab hold of her arm and moves to break it. Natasha rolls with the movement and is able to pull herself free. Warren is on her before she can recover and hits her twice, once on her injured arm, once on the ribs. In desperation she tries to sweep his legs from under him. He easily avoids the move, but it puts some space between them.

The advice she gave her class about fighting a superior martial-artist rings in her head. Run or shoot the bastard. There is no way to do either. If she runs Hawkeye will die. Her weapons are on the other side of the room. Natasha bares her teeth at Warren. He may be better, but she's a damn sight more vicious. He'll only take her life at the cost of his own. Warren smirks in response to the determination in her gaze.

"You know what I do with spiders? I crush them," he taunts.

Warren lunges towards her and she adjusts her stance, ready for the onslaught. He gasps in pain and freezes, the momentum of his lunge toppling him to the ground face first. A knife sticks out of his back, the same knife that was embedded in Clint's ear a fraction of a second before.

Natasha looks towards Clint. He is bleeding profusely but has a smug smile on his face.

"Amateur," Clint says tiredly, nodding to the corpse.

"Nice throw," she offers.

Natasha places the explosives and Clint performs rudimentary first aid on his injuries. Clint and Natasha trudge up the stairs to find three nervous guards babbling in Russian and pointing guns at them. Clint wearily draws an arrow but Natasha is already moving. Jump, kick, twist. Ten seconds later the third guard falls down to the ground unconscious, joining his brethren.

"Waiting for a round of applause?" Clint asks, a touch of admiration in his tone.

Natasha shrugs. "Couldn't hurt."

They walk out of the house, not flinching at the noise behind them as the lab and its equipment is blown to pieces.

* * *

"Unfortunately none of the files we recovered will help us create our own prototype intelligence creation device." Director Fury states.

"That's unfortunate. It was promising research," one Council member says.

"Given the side-effects HYDRA documented it may be for the best," another replies.

"That will be all Director Fury," the Council Chairwoman says.

Nick Fury strides away, leather coat sweeping behind him. He waits until he is back in his quarters to draw a USB from his pocket. It contains _all_ the files Agents Romanoff and Barton recovered. He crushes it beneath his boot.

* * *

Natasha sits through the debrief and congratulations, and is shown to her new quarters. The soft glow of dawn filters through her windows and her pot plant has already been placed on the bedside table. She thinks this is Fury's way of saying her probationary period is over. She knows Fury would have no problem ordering her death if he thought she was a threat, and this sign of trust shakes her almost as much as knowing that Fury is right to trust her. This is home.

Natasha hears a soft knock on her door. She slides it open and Hawkeye is there, freshly bandaged but still dressed in the mission clothes.

"You need a shower," she tells him, wrinkling her nose.

"Kapoor and I were wondering if you'd like to come out for burgers and fries with us."

"Sure."

They take her to a hole in the wall burger joint. The burgers are overcooked and the fries tasteless but Natasha eats them anyway.

* * *

_Five months later_

After a tough mission Natasha's favorite method of escape is a book. Clint's is soap opera.

She is in Clint's quarters, lying on the couch with her left ankle elevated. The light from the television plays over her face as she watches the shenanigans of an improbably large and incestuous family. Clint is sitting on the floor, back to the coach, shoveling popcorn into his mouth.

"So let me get this straight. She's an evil twin who has come back-" Nastasha starts to asks.

"No, not an evil twin. She got surgery to look exactly the same as Yelena." Clint explains.

"Did the original actress quit?"

"No-"

"It's completely illogical."

"We just defeated a scientist who was planning to take over the world through hypnosis! Life isn't logical."

"But-"

He throws some of his popcorn at her. "Shhh! Janet's about to give Hank the smackdown."

She steals his popcorn and lets herself relax into the couch.

Fin.

* * *

Author's note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed. Every review is like a sparkly happy-making motivator (and more feedback is very welcome!). I had fun writing this, even if I look back and wince in some places. I hope you had as much fun reading.


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